


Drunk On You

by Imoshen



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2019 [33]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Ketch, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Consent is Sexy, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Omega Sam, Top Ketch, Virgin Sam, drunk on scent, scent sensitive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 08:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: Sam Winchester finds Arthur Ketch's scent to be irresistible. When they're forced into close quarters, he realizes just how irresistible it is to him... secrets are spilled.





	Drunk On You

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted to tumblr, @mrsimoshen
> 
> Written for SPN Kink Bingo for the square Drunken Confessions on my second Card.  
> Written for SPN A/B/O Bingo for the square Anise/Honeysuckle/Lavendar on my Card.  
> Written for Sam Winchester Bingo for the square Smut on my Card.

Sam has always been more attuned to scents than the average person. Dean is a decent scent-reader, can follow a trail if he concentrates and the surroundings don’t mess too much with it, but Sam? Before he learned to filter them, the mess of scents in public places were agony. Even now, particular scents can cause migraine-like headaches, and he never forgets a scent mix once he’s broken it down into its components. Dean once called him a bloodhound, and while he’s not fond of the title, he has to admit his brother wasn’t exactly wrong.

He never understood how people could call a scent “soothing” or “addictive”. To him, they are a distraction he constantly needs to filter out, a nuisance, or a hint. The closest he ever came to considering a scent other than Dean’s as soothing, it was Lucifer and his cool snow and ice.

That is, he never understood – until he met Arthur Ketch, British Men of Letters.

He was fully prepared to hate the smug British bastard and his whole organization, consider him an evil psychopath and nothing more or less… but the scent he noticed on the other male didn’t let him. It didn’t fit the image, even when Ketch used scent blockers to mute it down to levels that are probably unnoticeable to most other people. Except Sam.

He kept his careful distance as a result, made sure to always have someone else there as a buffer, or an escape route handy when that wasn’t possible, because his reactions to that scent concerned him. It worked nicely… until now.

 

“Well, we won’t be leaving anytime soon,” Ketch observes, and Sam has to agree.

They are lucky the hotel still had a room for them when they found it last night, because the snowstorm only picked up after that. In the early morning light, everything around them is covered in white, the road indistinguishable from everything else.

Nothing and no one is going to drive through that much snow unless it’s a life or death situation, and the almost-black clouds on the horizon promise more snowfall in short order.

“We already solved the case,” Sam murmurs, staring at the low-hanging clouds. “A day or two more won’t cost innocent lives.”

“Not unless your brother decides I killed you and did unspeakable things to your body and decides to burn through the snow with the sheer heat of his hatred,” Ketch deadpans. “I am, after all, the villain in this little adventure.”

Sam laughs. “If Dean thought you’d do that, he’d be here right now… probably bitching about the snow on Baby,” he returns and watches Ketch’s lips twitch into a thin smile.

“Point,” the Brit admits. “I’m going back inside, it’s bloody cold out here.”

Sam nods, but stays outside a little while longer. The silence and utter lack of scents soothes him. He uses the relative privacy to call Dean and reassure his brother they’re fine, he has his heat suppressants with him, and Ketch is behaving himself, promising to call again tomorrow, and then takes a deep breath and goes back inside, heading up to their room.

Sam realizes three things in quick succession.

One: the room is _really_ small.

Two: Ketch smells really, _really_ good.

Three: he’s fucked.

Ketch’s scent wraps itself around him, made more intense by the size of the hotel room, and Sam desperately wishes he could leave the door and all the windows open, but Ketch was right, it is freezing outside and Sam’s desire to not freeze to death (and to not be watched by other hotel guests) wins over his wish for a less intense scent. At least Ketch doesn’t cause headaches.

 

They spend a lot of the day in a silence that is surprisingly comfortable. Sam types up the intel they gathered on the case (a sort of sprite that is apparently very local, and usually very docile unless you harm the forest it lives in. Sam was almost sympathetic to it, but it did target innocent people.) and Ketch types up a report (habit, the man claims, and it prevents the nightmares from the bad ones). The hotel has a generator, so they have electricity and all the modern luxuries that come with it – light, warmth, and room service (Ketch pays).

Sam only realizes he has a problem when he gets up after their meal to clear the dishes. He’s dizzy when he stands up, and now that he pays attention to it, he feels… a little dizzy, a little loose, almost drunk. Ketch’s scent is omnipresent, and while it doesn’t really bother Sam, it clearly has an effect on him. Sam shivers and casts a longing glance at he windows, but even if the howling wind wasn’t a hind, the snow swirling behind the glass certainly is. There won’t be any fresh air for a while unless he wants to freeze.

Sam grits his teeth and concentrates on transferring the dishes back to the cart to roll into the hallway. He jerks in surprise when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder, reacting on instinct. Ketch evades him easily, and Sam stares at the other man. “What?”

“I called your name three times, Sam, you didn’t answer.” Ketch steps closer again, ignoring Sam’s still-raised arm. “You’re flushed and swaying in place, and I was… worried.”

Sam swallows. “I’m fine,” he murmurs, and yeah, he wouldn’t believe himself either. His voice is softer than usual, and he thinks he’s slurring a little.

“Did you take your suppressants?” Ketch asks softly. Sam flushes further.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “It’s not that.” It’s getting worse with Ketch’s closeness, and Sam tries to surreptitiously support himself with a grip on the cart behind him. Of course, Ketch notices.

“Let’s get you to bed,” the Alpha decides, turning and tugging Sam with him with the grip on his arm. “If it’s not a heat, you’ve probably caught a cold.”

Sam panics. The thought of “Ketch” and “bed” has his blood feel hot in a way he’s never experienced before. “It’s not a cold,” he blurts out, “it’s you.”

Ketch stops dead where he stands, and Sam almost runs into him. This close, his scent is even more intense, and Sam really stands no chance with that look aimed at him. Before Ketch can ask, he’s already talking.

“It’s your scent,” he explains. “You smell sooo good, and it’s making me dizzy and I’ve never had that happen before, people smell strange and too strong and why must you be the fucking exception, damnit, I don’t _want_ to like you but I do and I want to kiss you and scent you and be covered in your scent and have you wear mine and it’s not fucking fair and oh God _why don’t you stop me_ _talking_!”

Ketch blinks, and then there’s a slow smile. Sam stares and blushes harder as his brain catches up with his own mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbles, trying to step back. Ketch’s hold on his upper arm reels him back in immediately.

“Don’t be sorry,” the Brit murmurs, and has his voice always been that deep purr? Sam can’t quite recall. “I’ve got scent blockers with me, I’ll go take one and we can probably open a window for a moment, clear your head a little.”

“No!” Sam almost shouts and lowers his voice immediately when Ketch winces a little. “No, please… I _like_ your scent,” he repeats, barely stopping himself from leaning in to scent at Ketch’s neck. “I never liked someone’s scent before.”

Ketch’s expression softens a little, and then Sam is guided to the sofa in front of the TV. Ketch slides into his lap easily, and Sam blinks and then shivers as the weight registers with some instinctive part of his brain.

“Go ahead,” Ketch murmurs with a smile, tilting his head back. “Scent your fill, Sammy. I’ll pop a blocker later and we can talk about anything else when you’re not scent-drunk anymore. I _really_ don’t want Dean coming after me with a shotgun.”

Sam manages a laugh and, permission given, leans in to bury his nose in Ketch’s neck and inhale his scent. He sighs and relaxes, surrounded by a mix of honeysuckle and lavender and just a tiny hint of spicy anise.

 

Sam wakes up feeling clear-headed again – and embarrassed. Ketch must’ve followed through on his promise of taking a scent blocker and opened a window on top of that. Sam’s been tucked into his bed and cocooned in a nest of his blankets (and he blinks mentally at that, because he remembers dozing off on the couch, Ketch still on his lap. He must’ve carried Sam to bed, and Sam… well, he knows he’s neither small nor light.), and the air has that fresh, sharp smell that usually accompanies snow. It’s cool when he pushes the blankets down a little, and Sam shivers and hurries to wrap himself back up in warmth.

“Good afternoon,” Ketch’s low murmur is unexpected, and Sam blushes and resists the urge to make himself smaller. He tilts his head a little and spots his roommate back at the table, working quietly on his laptop. “Slept well, Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam mumbles and winces at how hoarse his voice is. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I slept well.”

“Good.” And with that, Ketch closes his laptop and gets up, slowly crossing the distance to where Sam is still stretched out on his bed. Sam stares, feeling a little like the rabbit in front of the snake – knowing he’s in danger, but too hypnotized to do something about it.

“Such big eyes,” Ketch murmurs, and there’s that thin smile again, the one Sam used to think was mocking. Now, he thinks he got it wrong. The Brit sinks to his knees between the beds, and the precise way in which he does so has Sam swallow a soft noise. Has Ketch always been this graceful? “You said a few interesting things to me earlier,” and oh damn, yes, Sam remembers and this time, there’s no way he can hide the blush, “and I really need to know if you still mean them, Sam.”

He wants to deny it, wants to claim it was just scent-drunkenness speaking, but Ketch watches him so closely, and Sam finds he can’t present another lie to the man. Not when that almost-hopeful gaze rests on him. It takes more courage than most things Sam has done in his life (up to and including saying “yes” to Lucifer, because that was just courting death. This is… more.) but he manages a nod. “I still mean them,” he murmurs, feels his cheeks burn hotter – and then he’s getting kissed, slow and chaste and sweet, and any thought processes he might still have had are summarily derailed.

Kissing, he’s done before, and Ketch’s teasing kisses are easy to return. The Alpha is almost playful with him, and Sam relaxes into his nest of blankets and looses himself in trading kisses with a man who’s probably almost at lethal as Sam himself.

“You know what wearing each other’s scent means, right?” Ketch finally murmurs what feels like hours later (can only be minutes, but Sam gives zero fucks about time right now).

“I know what it means,” Sam agrees softly. “I… I’ve never done any of that though.”

Honesty is important, and while Sam usually isn’t the most forthcoming on personal information… he blames the lingering hint of Ketch’s scent in the air, the strange intimacy being cocooned in blankets, trading kisses like a teenager has created. He watches as Ketch’s eyes turn a darker green and files that information away in his growing mental file on the man. Ketch breathes a soft curse.

“Sweet Heaven, Sam, you don’t just throw stuff like that at a man clinging to the dregs of control,” the Brit murmurs. Sam blinks, then smirks.

“You like the idea of being the first to get a chance at me, Ketch?”

His teasing earns him a soft growl, and Sam shivers in beginning arousal.

“You know I do,” the Alpha informs him. “Last chance to tell me to get lost, Sam. I’m not that strong.”

“Yes, you are,” Sam murmurs. Something tells him if he told this Alpha “no” at any point, it would be honored. “Come up here, Ketch… be with me.”

Another soft growl, and then Sam’s on his back, and there’s a warm body beneath the blankets with him, and he’s getting kissed again. This time, it’s hungrier, harsher, and Sam gives as good as he gets, not willing to lie back and play at being a meek Omega. He’s not, never was, and it’s best if Ketch realizes that from the start.

It doesn’t seem to bother the Alpha above him. Ketch needs embarrassingly little time to have Sam a moaning, writhing mess. He can feel himself harden and getting slick in equal measure, and when Ketch finally, _finally_ slides careful fingers into him, Sam is ready to swear fealty to whatever to get more.

“Please,” he gasps out, “not gonna break, give me more!”

A soft growl is his answer. “Someone knows what he wants,” Ketch murmurs, and then he’s sitting up, taking the blanket with him, and Sam gasps and stares at the half-naked, disheveled man in his bed. It’s a delicious sight, really. “Played with yourself, have you?”

Sam nods, moaning when Ketch gives him more to clench down on. “Got… toys,” he gasps out, whining when Ketch slowly moves his fingers. “Needed them… for heats.”

“Isn’t that a thought,” Ketch murmurs, grinning. “Think you’re willing to put on a little show for me sometime, pretty Omega?”

Right now, Sam would be willing to do almost anything for the Alpha. “Yes,” he gasps out, trying to wrap a leg around Ketch and tug him closer. He makes grabby hands at him. “Come here, please, need you inside me.”

Ketch hums and reaches down to finally open his pants one-handed. Sam watches with his lower lip between his teeth as fabric parts. The promising bulge he felt pressed against his hip wasn’t empty promises, and he makes a soft, hungry noise when he gets his first good look at the thick cock his Alpha owns. “Please,” he whispers, trying for the honeyed Omega allure he’s never used before. Judging by the curse and the harsher thrust into his hole, it works.

“Fuck, Sam,” Ketch growls as Sam moans and arches. “Alright, pet.”

Sam spreads his legs wider, whining as Ketch pulls his fingers free. Remaining clothes are removed hastily, and then the Alpha crawls between Sam’s legs, looming above him. “Deep breath for me, Omega,” and Sam complies with the rough murmur, breathing in and then loosing the air in a shout as he’s breached.

Sam’s drenched by now, making the slide in effortless, and it feels so damn good. It’s different than fingers, different than the toys he’s used before. It’s _better_ , and Sam moans and arches and clings to Ketch as the man slowly pushes into him until he’s in as far as can be. “Move,” he begs after a few heartbeats, “fuck, Alpha, _move!_ ”

Ketch laughs breathlessly against Sam’s neck, nipping at soft skin, and Sam shivers. “You,” the Brit murmurs, pushing up to his elbows, “are a damn bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

Sam almost has a comeback for that – he’s not _little_ anything, thank you very much – but then Ketch complies and starts moving, and that’s it for any coherent thought Sam might still have had.

It’s slow at first, Ketch more rocking into Sam than really thrusting, but the sensation is still intense enough Sam _knows_ he’ll want to feel it again and again. “Please,” he breathes, trying to push back, get _more_ , and Ketch moans softly and gives him what he wants, picking up the pace. A firm hand angles Sam’s hips until Sam mewls and clenches down on him as the thick cock inside drags over his prostate. “Oh fuck yes!”

“There?” Ketch murmurs close to Sam’s ear, his voice even rougher than before. Sam moans in answer, turning his head and then he’s getting kissed just as thoroughly as Ketch is fucking him.

He has no idea how long they kiss, only mewls in protest when Ketch breaks free to gasp in a breath and curse. The Alpha’s pace changes from long, even thrusts to short, hard jabs, and Sam groans and digs his nails in when he realizes why: the knot at the base of Ketch’s cock is swelling up. His own cock, sandwiched between their bellies, twitches.

“Gonna come on my knot, Sam?” Ketch murmurs into his ear, and oh _God_ , he had no idea the man is even capable of the kind of filth he’s now murmuring to Sam. “Come with your virgin hole stretched wide around my knot, used and fucked full and _mine_ , little Omega? Fuck, I bet you’re going to look so damn sexy covered in your own cum and still all stretched around me…”

The knot is shoved in hard, the head of Ketch’s cock hits his prostate, and that’s it, Sam is gone. He shouts as he comes, painting both their bellies with his release and feeling his body clench down hard on Ketch’s cock inside him, and his lover groans, nails digging into Sam’s skin. Sam pants and moans, and the sensation of being filled up with his Alpha’s orgasm is something he can’t describe but knows he wants again and again.

“Alpha,” he breathes, still shivering as his body reacts. Ketch makes a soft growling sound and nips at his ear.

“Omega,” he murmurs back, holding Sam to him a little tighter. And really, Sam thinks as he catches his breath and relaxes into the sensation of being filled, being _knotted_ , words are so overrated sometimes.

 

They stay in the hotel for another five days, the weather helping them keep Dean at bay. By the time they feel ready to face the world again, Sam has gotten used enough to Ketch’s scent they don’t need the blockers anymore – and he got his wish. He’s wearing honeysuckle, lavender and anise layered into his own scent, and his Alpha is wearing hints of woodsmoke, lemons and just a little sweet vanilla.

“Dean’s going to flip out,” Sam predicts with a smirk as he settles into the passenger seat with a small wince. (He _may_ be just a little bit sore.)

“Eh, I’ve got a big, strong Omega mate to protect me,” Ketch quips, turning the key to start the car. Sam laughs as they drive off. It’s not quite the sunset… but once again, Sam Winchester gives zero fucks.


End file.
